Bravery and Insanity
by ImXDragon
Summary: Scot Kendell, a nineteen-year-old Inspector-in-training, finds himself on a case with Mr. Sherlock Holmes. But they soon find themselves in a situation that not even the world's greatest detective was expecting. Rated T for blood and violence.
1. Prologue: Guilty

**A/N: **

**So I'm going to try it. I'm actually going to try writing a chapter fiction.**

**The prologue a little short, but the chapters will be a bit longer.**

**Rated T for blood and violence; other than that, all is well (unless you count angst.)**

Scot Kendell's eyes flicked to and fro, taking in every detail he could find in the courtroom. The polished…gleaming…terrifying courtroom. So polished was the wood, that he could see his pale, sweat-laden face staring back at him with his own wide eyes.

Several other sets of eyes, those of the jury, and that of the judge, also glared back at him, deep scowls on their flushed faces. They watched his every move, like carnivorous beasts watching their prey, waiting for the perfect chance to spring.

They already had this prey trapped, however. All they had to do was land the killing blow.

Kendell certainly felt like prey. Both his mind and his heart raced. However many plans of escape the young man could muster, he knew he was a dead man. There was no getting out of this one.

Through the cascade of thoughts that tormented his mind, one stood out clearly among the rest.

_This isn't fair!_

A member of the jury stood, and fixed the young man with a piercing glare, filled with contempt.

If Scot Kendell thought he was nervous before, it was nothing compared to this. Sweat poured down his face and neck, and his heart raced so faced he thought he might have a heart attack. His clenched hands shook against the wooden railing.

But he knew this is what he deserved. He would be hanged for this, and justice would be served.

How he could have done it? He didn't know. No one knew. He didn't even believe it himself. And yet if he hadn't then he wouldn't be here today.

Then those fateful words that seemed to hang over the expectant crowd became audible.

"The jury finds Scot Kendell guilty of the murder of one Mr. Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Chapter 1: Stories

**A/N:**

**I appreciate everyone's feedback, both good and constructive. Thank you for your encouragement. And please, let me know if you have any errors you notice, or any ideas you have.**

**Thank you.**

* * *

His face scraped against the grimy ground as they threw him down into his cell. This is where Scot Kendell would stay until he was hanged.

He heard the iron cell door creak behind him as the guards closed it. Then the click of the lock sealed his fate.

He felt tears stream down his face, becoming coherent with the grime that now stained his pale cheeks. Kendell hardly heard the guards' footsteps as they walked away. He only lay there, trembling and weeping. He didn't deserve this...or did he? He wasn't sure anymore. After several moments, he finally managed to push himself up onto his knees. There he sat, staring at his hands on his lap, in the cell, with the shadows silently moving with the gentle swinging of the dim lantern over his head.

A terrible, rattling cough suddenly startled him out of his grief-filled vigil. He whipped his head to the left, and peered into the darker cell beside his. A gaunt, dark old man leaned against the corner of the cell he was trapped in. His cheekbones stretched against his pale skin so much, Kendell thought his skin might man gave out another terrible cough, then looked up at Kendell with dull, beady eyes.

In an awfully hoarse voice, he then said "So what's your story, young man?"

At first, Kendell didn't say anything. Should he say anything? The old man saw his hesitation, and released a rasping cackle that Kendell assumed was a laugh. "What is there to be hesitant about?" On went the cracking voice. "We're both going to die anyways. What's the danger in passing the time?"

The realization jolted through Kendell again, and he felt fresh tears run down his cheeks.

"Save your tears to drink later, boy. They don't feed us much in here. We're dead men walking. Or rather...sitting." Again with the rattling cackle.

"It is as you say..." Kendell finally found the strength to utter a few quiet words. "So then what's the point?"

"Ah...touche'...touche' indeed...well then...how's about your story. Eh?"

"I cannot fathom why you would be interested."

**"Because I'm bored!"** The old man had suddenly leaped from his perch, clenching his fists around the iron bars separating their cells. Kendell jumped back with a yelp, trembling harshly. This man terrified him.

As quickly as the old man had sprang up, he sat back down, leaning against the stone wall behind them. "I am terribly sorry," said he with a toothy grin. "Being here can change a man...I was once an honest gentleman. Then I was locked away here...forced to sit in the dark and contemplate...and remember all that I had done...all that I was guilty of...and being forced to realize that I was going to die..."

Kendell swallowed down a lump in his throat, his limbs still trembling. He was frightened of this man. But as much as he was frightened of him, he was also sorry for him. A desire to hear the old man's story had suddenly overtaken him.

"I...I'll make you a deal." Said Kendell. The old man snapped his head up, his dull eyes suddenly focusing on the younger man. "If you tell me your name...then we can exchange stories."

The old man grinned his toothy grin again, the shot his hand through the iron bars, holding it out shakily. "Edward Heartiman."

Kendell took the skeleton-like hand reluctantly.

"Kendell...Scot Kendell."

Then they released, and Edward resumed his spot in the corner of his cell. "Now by all means...begin your time-consuming tale."

Kendell settled down on his rock-hard cot, crossed one leg over the other, and folded his hands on his lap.

"I suppose I'll start it just like any story...at the beginning..."


	3. Chapter 2: First Encounter

**A/N:**

***Hides face in shame.* I think this chapter is terrible...but I had to do something!**

**I hope you enjoy it anyways! ^^**

OoOoOoO

"It is the strangest thing. I seem to have no recollection of my earlier life. My memories seemed to have become melted and mixed together to the point where I can no longer think back very far. So I will have to use what I remember to help the story along.

"I was living in a small, run-down apartment near a rather shady area of the Thames. I was able to afford it with the money I received in the will of my deceased parents.

"I quickly realized that I was in need of a source of income, and thus I searched. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't very good at anything I tried. I jumped from occupation to occupation for many months, and it still remains a mystery to me as to how I always found food in my pantry when I returned home.

"I came to the conclusion that I wasn't looking in the right places, I had been looking for small work, such as a cab coach or a chimney sweeper. So I began searching in higher places.

"It took many failure-ridden months, but I finally found myself applying to be and Inspector-in-training at the Scotland Yard.

"When I first got the job, I knew I wouldn't hold it long. I was a coward, a klutz, and as far as I could tell, unintelligent. After several failures, the senior Inspectors were able to conclude that there wasn't much hope for me.

"But one day, I was getting some on-scene experience. Inspector Gilmore, my senior officer, was urging me to figure out what I could about the body of a man who had obviously been murdered by a shot to the head. This was in one of those shady alleys in Whitechapel. (Big surprise.) I was rather pitiful, saying things about the man that everyone else already knew. That's when _he _showed up.

Suddenly, Scot Kendell felt himself being launched into his memories, remembering everything vividly. From the odors he had smelled, to the textures he had felt, he was now reliving it all.

OoOoOoO

From what he had heard about Sherlock Holmes from the other Inspectors, he was a genius who could outsmart anyone of them, and also a prideful, stubborn busybody. But despite the face of loathing they put on when talking about him, it wasn't hard to detect that glint of appreciation and recognition in the Inspectors' eyes. They were rather in awe of the man's skills and methods. Sherlock Holmes had been an inspiration to every Inspector he had met, even if they didn't care to show it.

As Scot Kendell stood there in the dank alley, with the bloody body of some poor innocent at his feet, the fall winds blowing, and the area bustling with officials, he was struck by the appearance of the man that now approached them.

The man was tall, over six feet, and his thin body made him seem even taller. His face was gaunt and sharp, fitted with piercing grey eyes, giving him an air of total awareness. Kendell imagined that very few people wouldn't want to shiver under those carefully watching eyes…

Scot Kendell had not seen this man during his short time working for the Scotland Yard. And since the appearance of the stranger was so striking, he knew he could hardly have missed it. Obviously, he was not an official. But he was walking towards them with purpose, so he had some business here.

No doubt this was the Sherlock Holmes he had been hearing about.

Holmes stopped to converse quietly with Inspector Gilmore, then approached the body. Kendell immediately backed out of the way. He didn't know why, but he felt the urge to avoid the amatuar detective's gaze as he strided towards him.

Sherlock Holmes knelt beside the body, his eyes flicking rapidly across every inch of the area. Kendell watched in awe as the amatuar took all of the information in; Kendell was sure he had seen a million things that the Inspectors had not in a matter of seconds. Well, that might have been an over-exaggeration.

Holmes straightened, and immediately confronted Inspector Gilmore.

"Small time musician. He recently had a major decline of income and sought for some way to mend his purse. New at the drug-dealing trade." All this was said in a quick, purposeful fashion.

_That was incredible... _Kendell gaped.

"Is that all you can tell us?" Inspector Gilmore pried.

_Is that all!? _Kendell was indignant. The amatuar had told them more than they had known. Was the man really a musician? New at drug-dealing? What more could his senior Inspector want? How did Holmes figure these things out?

"That is all that I have deemed necessary to the case," Holmes replied coolly. "There are many other things I could say, but they would be useless to us now."

"How did you know?" Kendell asked, then suddenly felt out of place. Gilmore gave him a warning glance, but Sherlock Holmes just turned and replied.

"Being a violinist myself, I know the fingers of a man who takes up the same hobby. If he were a more recognized musician, he would not have had such a decline in economic welfare. To the matter of the decline, his clothing is an expensive brand, but the thread has thinned with many months of use. The hat is also of good quality, but has been worn. There is the stain of a brandy that is drunk by the most well-off of people on the inside of the collar. This was never removed; that would have been too expensive for the now-poor man."

"But how did you know about the drug-dealing?"

Gilmore seemed embarrassed by Kendell's questions to the highly-esteemed amatuar. Normally, Holmes would become annoyed by such a waste of time.

"The package of drugs found in the sole of his shoe is poorly wrapped and concealed, indicating a lack of experience."

"What if the man was drunk?" Scot Kendell suggested.

"Kendell-!" Gilmore warned, but Holmes cut him off. The amatuar sleuth had adopted an interested look.

"Let him finish, Inspector."

Kendell felt blood rush to his cheeks and shifted his feet, suddenly feeling nervous and awkward under the gaze of the two men.

"Uhh...well, if he were drunk, then he wouldn't be able to wrap the package very well. And...he wouldn't think to conceal it properly."

Holmes seemed to consider this new theory. Although, of course, he wouldn't never admit that an Inspector-in-Training had thought of something he hadn't.

OoOoOoO

"The last I ever heard of that case, was they eventually caught the murderer, who was the leader of a small-time band of drug dealers. George Tethers, the murdered man, had been a dealer with the group for many years. He had begun to lose money when he began smuggling some of the drugs into his own home. Therefore, the drugs never made it to their destinations, and Tethers got a smaller paycheck each time. Eventually, the leader had grown tired of the lower amount of income, had found out about Tethers' smuggling, and had killed him in a fit of rage while Tethers was drunk one night.

"Needless to say, I returned to my humble living quarters feeling sure of myself for the first time in my life. They say that the presence of Sherlock Holmes normally makes the other Inspectors look like idiots, but not me.

"However proud of myself I was that night, it didn't last.

"And besides, that wasn't the last time I was going to see Sherlock Holmes."

OoOoOoO

**A/N:**

**Reviews and Constructive Feedback is always nice ;)**


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